


Bridges, Destroyed

by The_Dark_Enchantress_Ruhi



Category: C.I.D. (India TV)
Genre: Angst, Because she deserves better, Daya you Idiot, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Indian TV Series, More angst, Shreya leaves, ignorant Daya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dark_Enchantress_Ruhi/pseuds/The_Dark_Enchantress_Ruhi
Summary: They built the bridge between them in silence and destroyed it much the same. Inspired by "A Bridge Burning (In Six Parts)" by Whitmans_kiss.
Relationships: Senior Inspector Daya/Inspector Shreya
Kudos: 2





	Bridges, Destroyed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Bridge, Burning (in Six Parts)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319722) by [whitmans_kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitmans_kiss/pseuds/whitmans_kiss). 



> This is inspired entirely by "A Bridge Burning (In Six Parts)" by Whitmans_kiss, so all credits to them.  
> I also don't own C.I.D Because if I did the female characters would be actual characters instead of eye-candies and convenient love interests.

**They built the bridge between them in silence and destroyed it much the same.**

  
  


**I.**

They can’t quite meet each other’s eyes anymore when they talk. It’s only when they’re sitting in their desks do they dare to look, and even then their gazes are filled with remorse, or contempt, a love that never got a chance having turned bitter.

  
  


**II.**

He doesn't care anymore, it’s apparent in his indifference. He is so formal towards her now, even when she is screaming at him, tears rolling down her eyes, he refuses to acknowledge the little something they had. And it is infuriating beyond belief because a fight with him is not a fight anymore, it is the sound of words which have lost meaning to her, emphasizing dismissal, and a pen never ceasing to stroke letters onto a paper as smooth as her skin. She imagines the midnight blue ink is her blood, or her tears, which he now ignores.

  
  


**III.**

The clear surface of the lake ripples with a light breeze, the sun glimmering upon it. It is a perfect day, but to her, it is mocking. He is standing behind her on the platform, hands shoved in his pockets, looking at her calmly, eyes inquiring as if he didn't know of the storm brewing inside her. She rounds upon him, all but growling as she speaks, 

“Why didn’t you come?”

“I did. I saw the ceremony.”

She advances slowly towards him, then stops. Her voice is dangerously low, laced with accusation. “To the Train Station!”

He says nothing, doesn't lose his composure, and it is infuriating. Her shoulders sag. 

“You wouldn't care if I got married to somebody else.” Her voice is resigned. “You said you loved me.” Her voice is barely audible, but he hears her anyway.

“I did,” Her eyes bore into his. “But Siddharth is a better person. He's a good match for you.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding and swears loudly, turning her back to him and walking back to her original spot. 

“You’ll be happy with him.”

She faces him again in fury, her hands—balled into a fist—by her side. For a moment she thinks she might hit him, but she concentrates on breathing instead, closing her eyes when she sees him brace himself for the blow anyway. She just wants to scream, to let out everything, hoping, that perhaps he’d finally listen, but instead she turns around again, not saying a word—It isn’t her place anymore.

  
  


**IV.**

She calls off the wedding anyway—There’s no point in making an unhappy marriage and ruining both their lives. Her family poses questions, but she doesn't care to answer them. Her colleagues do the same, though they are a lot more subtle. It has begun to get suffocating, the unasked questions hanging thick in the air and the pity filled gazes which are directed towards her, and he is no less indifferent towards her than he was before, and she just cannot take it anymore. For the longest time, she sits in the darkness of her bedroom and cries.

  
  


**V.**

It is in the early hours of the morning when she finally makes up her mind, and by the time the sun is high up enough to signify eight o’clock, she is standing before her boss, submitting her transfer application. She waves away the questions that come, telling him that everything is fine, and that she’s only going away for a short while, although neither of them believe it.

Her application is accepted soon enough—Of course it is—and she looks around sadly at the life she shall be leaving behind. Carefully, she collects fragments of her time spent here—happy memories, she thinks, and puts them into her boxes with deliberate slowness. Her friends, when they find out, are aghast and she can practically hear their silent-yet-insistent pleas to reconsider. They understand, though, and do not push her, for which she is grateful. When it is done, they stand there for a while, staring at the boxes which hold pieces of what now seems to be another life. 

It is another hour before he walks in, wishing everyone a good morning before he sees the boxes, sees her, and stops. She cannot look at him even now, but he looks at her with an expression she cares not to decipher. There is no goodbye, no wishes of a good life ahead, because now, after all this, he has finally lost his nerve.

There are no words spoken; there is only silence.


End file.
